


Release

by Tchosan



Series: Smutty DARE Shorts [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tchosan/pseuds/Tchosan
Summary: Tagged: Oral sex, comfort sex---"The breath caught in her throat. Floods of tears ran down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw and splattering on his jeans."What's wrong?" she asked again, softer.He couldn't speak. How was he even going to start to explain what was wrong?Everything, and nothing."---Part of a collection of smutty one-shots from my series DARE. Cannon, but just didn't fit in the storyline.(1 of ?)
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals/Original Character(s)
Series: Smutty DARE Shorts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926271
Kudos: 17





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> The record playing is "Deathconsciousness" by Have a Nice Life.

The house was dark when Angel came plodding in from the rain, wet head-to-toe in her jacket. She pulled the hood down, shutting the door against the wind.

Her nerves prickled. If she knew it was going to storm like this she never would have gotten on the metro.

"Murdoc," she called, stomping on the front mat to wipe the dirt off. "Lenore called me, she said you haven't been picking up."

A deafening crack of thunder was the only response.

"I better not have come all the way from my place to find you napping."

She poked her head into the living room and the kitchen, peeling her damp shoes off in the hallway before climbing the stairs. Rain slid off her jacket and dripped behind her, leaving a trail up the steps.

"Murdoc?"

It was pitch black, the only light was the violet, stormy haze coming in from the windows. The bedroom door was cracked open and she could hear something quiet. She hesitated, knocking softly on the doorframe.

"Murdoc? Are you okay?"

No response.

She pushed the door open, peering inside, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. In the light of the window she could see him sitting on the bed, bent over and shaking.

A flash of worry shot through her and she hurried over, her hands coming down on his shoulders. He wouldn't look directly at her, his eyes flat and distant.

"What's wrong?" she said, turning his face up to look at her.

The breath caught in her throat. Floods of tears ran down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw and splattering on his jeans.

"What's wrong?" she asked again, softer.

He couldn't speak. How was he even going to start to explain what was wrong?

Everything, and nothing.

There was something deeply wrong with him. There was a switch in his brain that flicked on and off outside his control, suddenly bringing memories boiling up to the surface he hadn't thought of in years, and it drowned him in an overwhelming flood of immobilizing heartache and fear and grief. Small things, sometimes, that he could brush off. Sometimes it was horrid things he'd buried. And sometimes it all congealed into an amalgam of every terrible thing he'd ever done, and every terrible thing that had ever happened to him. It was suffocating. It had him by the neck and squeezed until he thought he would die.

It was like it was all unfolding in front of him, the pain so vivid and fresh that he couldn't remember if it had just happened, or if it happened years before. Everything blended together in an indistinguishable haze of timeless suffering.

There was no reason for it, no catalyst. When he was alone, his own mind found ways to dig a knife into his heart until it bled out his eyes. How was he supposed to explain that?

Angel shucked off her jacket, climbing onto the bed next to him.

"Is it something you want to talk about?" she said in a soft voice.

Just as soon as she could wipe the tears from his eyes, more flooded down his cheeks. He said nothing.

She leaned in, her lips brushing over his in a halting, careful kiss on his unmoving lips as hot tears streamed down his face. Her breath hitched, sympathetic tears bubbling up in her eyes. She ran her fingers through his hair and he leaned heavy into her, his wet eyelashes fluttering.

"I don't know what's wrong," she said quietly, rubbing her thumbs against his face. "I don't know what to do."

His eyes slipped closed. That was alright, he thought, no one did. He didn't. He would just push the knife in deeper until he drank it away or thrust the knife into someone else, anyone nearby within reach.

She nudged him to look at her, her forehead pressed against him, stomach twisting. She wanted to do something, anything to make him stop crying. Something to pull him out of himself, out of whatever this was.

He didn't want to talk, didn't want to move. He was a puppet with the strings cut.

Angel stroked the side of his face, searching him. If it was her crying like this, he'd slip his hand down her skirt and use his fingers to turn her attention away from her thoughts and toward him and his hands and his voice. It was the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing he knew he couldn't fuck up or make it worse. And, for some reason, it worked. Maybe it would work on him.

She cupped his jaw in her hands.

"Wait here," she whispered, pulling away, leaving an unbearable cold spot behind in the absence of her heat.

He hung his head, pressing his palms into his eyes. Everything felt numb and distant, every inch of him wrung with the unbearable, crushing weight of his heart. Just existing was a burden too sickening to take. He curled into himself and shivered with sobs.

Angel ran down the stairs, almost slipping in her damp stockings, and tore into the living room to flick through his vinyls, eyes darting over each album carefully.

He didn't even ask what she was doing when she came back in, didn't say a word, just sat there and let tears drip down his wrists.

Angel set the record on the little turntable sitting in the corner on the floor next to a beat-to-hell, suspect-looking beanbag chair, an overflowing ashtray of cigarette and joint butts beside it. Music leaked out of the speaker quietly.

She grabbed up his box of matches on the dresser and lit every candle she could find in his room—prayer candles with images of demons painted on the glass, red wax candlesticks jammed into bottles, and a huge black candle shaped like a skull that was melting away into an unrecognizable mass. Smoke billowed from the brass diffuser full of incense, the scent of sandalwood immediately filling the room in an almost overwhelming, thick cloud. Everything was lit golden with the flickering, shadowy light of the candles.

She tentatively walked over to his bedside table and pulled the drawer open, glancing back at him to see if he was going to stop her. But he didn't move, just sat with his shoulders shaking. She knew he had to have massage oil. And after sorting through lubes, clamps, silk ties, and a few well-loved looking magazines, she pulled out a little bottle of sweet almond oil.

She sat down on the bed behind him, crossing her legs. Murdoc didn't seem to notice or care, barely moving an inch, though his hands fell away from his face, his eyes cast down. He didn't struggle when her hands went to the hem of his shirt to slowly work it off him, messing his hair as it came off. His pendant fell back against his chest.

He should have been struggling, telling her to get lost, to just leave him be, to leave him alone. But he couldn't bear that. He couldn't make himself turn away the only grasp he had on reality.

Angel carefully squeezed out a dot of oil into her palms, rubbing them together until they were slick. He twitched under her touch. The warmth of her hands was unignorable, piercing through his haze of agony.

His back was one huge knot, every muscle clenched and tense. She pressed her thumbs along the line of his shoulder blades, running up to the base of his neck. A long grunt left him, somewhere between a sigh of relief and a painted moan. It felt horrible and amazing, her hands pressing into him hard. Tears slipped silently out of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched like this without paying for it—in one way or another.

Her fingers ran softly up the sides of his neck, along his jaw, lightly under his chin. She leaned in, planting soft kisses behind his ear, her face brushing against his hair. He groaned, leaning into her.

It wasn't like him to go along with tender displays of affection. Usually it made him nervous and jumpy, made him want to distance himself on instinct. That was one step before slipping headfirst into commitment territory. But he was already unraveled and he didn't have the energy to fight her. And he realized, with a rattling breath, that he didn't want to, either.

She tried to wipe her hands off on her skirt and ran her fingers through his hair, leaving it greasy despite her best efforts. He didn't care.

His eyes slipped closed, the wet streaks on his cheeks beginning to dry. He didn't want her to stop touching him. He didn't care what she did as long as her hands stayed on him, his nerves lighting on fire, buzzing. Thunder rumbled low in the purple night, lightning popping like a flashbulb in the darkness, leaking in through the cracks of the curtains. Rain pattered against the window, the vinyl playing softly along with it. And everything smelled like sandalwood and almond and Angel.

She laid him down on his back and he let her without resistance. She bent down on her knees, holding her hair back in her fist. His eyes cracked open, seeing her overtop of him in the golden light, her face soft and dewed with tiny tears that threatened the corners of her eyes. It pained her to even look at him, to see him so shaken.

She started at his forehead, dotting soft, barely-there kisses downward, over his cheeks, his jaw, down the middle of his throat. A long breath left him, her lips pressing against the line of his collar. Her skin warmed him, the chill of the room disappearing. A few stray hairs dragged over him. 

Her lips brushed along the inside of his arm, up to his wrist, and she took each hand in turn, kissing his palms and each fingertip, pressing her cheek to him before letting go.

Murdoc's neck craned further back the lower she went, her lips dragging over his chest, his stomach, down to the hollows of his hips. Her hot breath pooled against him as she hesitated, trying to decide if this would be okay.

She glanced up at him and fumbled with his fly, her slick fingers slipping over the button, until she had him freed and she pulled his jeans down to his thighs. She looked back up at him. He was silent, but he wasn't stopping her. If he wanted to, he would have, loudly.

She curled her fingers around the hem of his black silk briefs. Sweet kisses along his pelvis made his mouth fall open, eyes clenching shut. It was overwhelming and frustratingly too little. His nails dragged over her shoulders, holding her to him. He wanted her to keep going.

She slid the briefs down, letting his hardening cock out. A groan leaked out of him, long and pleasured. Angel glanced up at him again, watching his head tilt back and his jaw tighten, his nails digging tighter into her.

She bent down, taking his hips in her hands, her hair falling over him. She licked her lips and kissed along the inside of his thighs, letting her lips drag over his skin. His back seized, his cock twitching against the side of her face.

"Angela," he breathed in a thin, breaking voice, his hands coming down on the back of her head.

Her eyes flicked up to him, her fingers kneading into his hips. He wasn't looking at her, but he brushed her hair aside from her face so she could look at him. She laid her cheek against his thigh, watching his chest rise and fall with deep breaths. He looked unbearably beautiful, his face soft and his lips parted, his jet black hair pushed back from his forehead.

The brush of her lips against the tip of him made his breath catch hard, his legs tensing. Her fingers trailed down the sides in a ghost of a touch, almost painful in its lightness. She kissed along the length of him, delicately, slowly, her tongue just barely slipping out between her lips with each kiss. His skin was warm under her, flushing with each touch. He held her hair back, wrapping it around one hand and stroking her jaw with the other, his tears no longer from the weight of his own mind. All he could think about was her mouth.

A heart-stopping jolt shot through him as her lips wrapped around the tip of him, her fingers holding him to her gently. Her tongue slid over his head in short, slow strokes, as if she were kissing his lips instead. A hum of satisfied, quiet moans rumbled in his chest. He didn't speak, didn't even try. No thoughts in his head came together to form words. He just wanted her to keep going. He didn't want to say anything to distract her from taking him into her hot, wet mouth. He stayed still, fighting the urge to push into her, his fingers clenching around the back of her head.

"Ooh," a breathy moan slipped out of him.

She flushed, her body pulsing at the almost innocent sound. Her eyes shot up to him and he was looking at her, mouth open and eyes half-lidded with desire. The sight of her was killing him, her attentive face, her flushing cheeks and that look she gave him—it looked like something he couldn't dare put into words.

Her eyes drifted away and she held him just a little tighter and slid him deeper into her mouth, running down the length of him in slow, sweet strokes, her tongue dragging up him to the tip and back down. Her own eyes slipped closed, feeling him move inside her.

"Murdoc," she groaned around him, sending a shiver through his hips.

He tentatively rocked into her, moaning at the wet sound her lips made around him. He moved slow, letting her set the pace, one of her hands around the base of him, the other pressed into the small of his back to guide him. His hands ran through her hair, pulling it away from her face, his nails scratching gently over her. It was overwhelming. His tears had broken down his resistance, and he felt every movement flood his raw nerves. He couldn't bear to hold himself back. He didn't want to. He didn't want to resist the heat of her mouth and the silky slip of her hair between his fingers, cradling her against him.

"A-Ange'—" he warned, hands moving to grip at her back.

She squeezed his hips in reassurance, not stopping.

His head craned back, his back tensing, knees bending as she tightened around him. He tried to keep himself from hitting the back of her throat, shuddering with effort. New, hot tears trailed down his cheeks. Murdoc grunted, his jaw clenching, and with one last pump and a desperate groan, he came into her mouth, filling her. She struggled, trying not to choke, her hands gripping onto his splayed-open hips for purchase, refusing to pull away.

Loud, shuddering breaths left him, his hips arching as she slid him out. He tilted her chin up, pulling for her to come up to him.

Before she could even wipe her face, his two fingers were pressing against her lips to open them. She hesitated, then opened her mouth, his fingers slipping inside, wetting himself with a hot mix of cum and saliva. A hitching gasp left him at the sight of the slick liquid dripping from his fingers when he pulled out.

She shifted as he tugged her stockings down and reached under her skirt.

"Murdoc, it's okay, you don't have to—"

He stared at her with glazed eyes, his fingers pushing in without hesitation.

Angel curled into him, her damp hands grasping at the back of his head, pulling him against her. His eyes were locked onto hers, unwavering, watching her mouth fall a little more open with each stroke. She was so hot already, her face flushing. He leaned in, dipping his tongue into her mouth in a deep kiss, the salty taste of himself on her tongue. His wet cock jerked against her thigh, his hips moving to press himself to her.

Angel was already close, her hand wrapping around his wrist. His mind came back to him in a rush, finally able to speak again. He knew the sound of his voice would push her over. His hand pumped under her skirt.

"So sweet of you to let me into your warm little mouth," he mumbled, pulling her lower lip down with his free thumb, looking at her pink tongue all slick with the remains of him.

He opened her jaw and ran his tongue up the length of hers, forcing a shudder from her.

"Aren't you good to me, love, trying so hard. Even now you're trying so hard not to cum right away."

He leaned in, breathing hot breaths into her hair.

"I want you to give me one more thing," he huffed.

Her thighs clenched, teeth gritting. He laughed in a shallow breath, dissolving into a sigh on her skin. His fingers slid in and out of her in long, deep strokes, dragging his wet palm against her.

"Come on, love." He sounded tired and relieved. "Do it for me. Let me see you."

A strangled sound left her mouth and she moved with him, losing herself.

"Christ," he moaned, burying his face in her shoulder, the scent of her hair filling him up as she came around him. "Oh God…"

The room was still, their chests rising and falling with labored, shaking breaths. Angel moved to get up, but he held her by the arm.

"Don't," he mumbled, tugging her back down to him.

Angel lied back down beside him, looking into his half-closed eyes, red and flickering with exhaustion, his body spent from crying and weak with afterglow. She curled into him, cradling his head against hers.

"Alright," she whispered, threading her fingers into his hair.

They laid in the dark, the incense burning out, and the candles dimming low in the shadows. Thunder hummed low in the night, and they tangled around each other like life rafts in the storm and said nothing, the vinyl spinning into crackling silence.


End file.
